An Unreserved Train Compartment
We met again, after so many years, through the train’s window I see— vast meadows, the fields of ripening green, water-bodies glimmering with quiet breath, all rushing backwards while we keep moving towards the future! How strange—how are you now? A sudden winter has fallen on the plains, my age has grown heavy, creepers and leaves too thick with weight. And you—how do you fare? The sky seems kind, at least. Do you remember the winter lake, the birds that used to come? Benches littered with fallen leaves, and our vow—to dream aloud of days not yet born, to listen to promises of the new. But civilization has shifted, my head aches with time’s burden. Where have those hours gone? Through the train window the earth itself runs neatly backwards, while I, finding a sky of my own, search still for that old station after so many roads of life, an aged body carrying new words, eyes fixed forward. Ah, our days of youth— our stories of desire and promise, where we said...